


Long-Punished Heart

by Queen_Lightning



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:30:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Lightning/pseuds/Queen_Lightning





	1. Prologue

Sonny Carisi was confused the first day he met you.

He was only a few weeks into his new assignment at Manhattan’s Special Victims Unit, and he caught a case with a young girl as the victim. The girl was severely traumatized, and Sonny didn’t want to try and question her. Luckily, his lieutenant, Olivia Benson had already taken care of it.

“We have someone on the way,” she told the squad. “Doctor Y/L/N is the best at this.”

Sonny breathed a sigh of relief and then went to make a few calls. By the time he came back, the child victim was settled into SVU’s most child-friendly interrogation room. She was sitting at a low table, coloring, and there was a woman sitting across from her, working on coloring her own picture. 

Sonny couldn’t make out her face – she had her back to him – but he could see the little girl. For the first time since they had brought her in, the child looked relaxed – or as relaxed as she could be. Liv and the rest of the detectives stood at the one-way glass window and watched.

“Who’s that?” Sonny asked, and his new partner, Amanda Rollins turned to answer him.

“That’s Doctor Y/F/N Y/L/N,” she said. “Child psychologist. She comes in to consult on the worst cases.” She turned back to watch.

Sonny gazed at you through the glass. He felt confused first, then he felt a flush of shame. He had assumed you’d be a man. The sudden proof of his own bias only reinforced how out of place he felt with Manhattan’s SVU. He had an uncomfortable thought that his new coworkers didn’t like him: he was replacing Nick Amaro, a detective that they all seemed to love, and he had gotten off on the wrong foot with nearly everyone on his first case. The last thing he needed was his woman boss and woman partner realizing that he had made an assumption about women. 

Sonny made a decision then and there to start – really start, this time – keeping his mouth shut until he knew all the pertinent facts. He was going to think before he spoke, from now on.

His resolution was quickly forgotten when you came out of the interrogation room to join them. You explained the girl’s fragile state to Liv, and Sonny looked you over. You were in dark jeans and sneakers, and a light blue sweater with a unicorn on it. Combined with your hair, swept into a ponytail, you looked more ready to head to freshman orientation than to a police precinct as a specialized psychiatrist.

When you were done debriefing Liv, you turned to him with a smile. “I don’t think we’ve met yet,” you said, and you held your hand out to him.

“You’re young,” Sonny blurted as he shook you hand.

So much for thinking before he speaks. Liv and Amanda rolled their eyes at him, and Fin snorted. 

You tilted your head at him, your smile turning from friendly to puzzled. “Well, most people call me Y/F/N,” you said. “But ‘young’ works, if you prefer that.”

Liv chimed in. “Y/F/N, this is our newest detective, Dominick Carisi.” She turned and made her way towards her office, and everyone else followed her into the bullpen. You walked beside Sonny as he went to his desk.

“’Sonny,’” he corrected. “Call me ‘Sonny,’ everybody does.” You didn’t respond, and he found himself babbling about his recent assignments – his tour through the other boroughs – and his night school classes. The more he talked, the wider your smile got. Finally, you cut him off.

“You ever been formally diagnosed, Detective Carisi?”

Sonny leaned back on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. “What do ya mean?”

You crossed your arms, mirroring him. “In my field, we call it ‘foot-in-mouth disorder.’ It’s in the DSM-V.” You were smiling brightly, and your eyes were cheerful. Sonny couldn’t help but smile back at you.

“Is there a cure for it?” he said, playing along.

You shook your head in mock sorrow. “Sadly, no. It just gets worse with age, until you find yourself, seventy years old and boring your grandkids with stories about your past.”

“Is there any other reason to make it to seventy years old?” he joked. He missed joking around with people at work. Since joining Manhattan’s SVU, he’d been walking on eggshells, seemingly irritating his coworkers just by existing. Hell, he couldn’t even order pizza (tomato and goat cheese) without snarky comments and rolled eyes.

Joking with a cute girl – _woman_, he corrected himself – was just a lucky bonus.

“Sure,” you replied. You ticked points off on your fingers. “Senior discounts, electric scooters. Getting to yell things like ‘get off my lawn’ and ‘back in my day.’ Scaring people when I drive. Comfortable clothes…”

Sonny gestured at you. “You seem comfortable already, especially for a doctor.”

You uncrossed your arms and looked down at yourself. Your cheeks pinked a little, and Sonny thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen. “Kids respond better to someone in casual clothes than someone in a severe suit,” you explained. “But don’t worry – if I have to testify, I wear my _formal_unicorn sweater.”

Sonny laughed, but before he could respond, Liv came out of her office and called you in to discuss next possible steps for the victim. As you walked past him, you paused for a moment. 

“Welcome to the squad, Sonny,” you said. “Try to stick around a while before moving on to the last leg of your five-borough world tour.”

Sonny turned and watched your retreating form as you joined Liv in her office, then he grabbed his coat and headed to the lab to see if the DNA results he was waiting on were done yet. By the time he returned to the precinct, you were gone.

Sonny Carisi was confused the first day he met you, and before the day was out, he was already half in love with you.


	2. Chapter 2

Sonny had done enough stints across the five boroughs to know how terrible people could be to each other. Law school just reinforced a lot of what he had seen: established case law that proved humans didn’t just hurt each other – they did it frequently, and with aplomb.

Still, nothing could prepare him for his first case at SVU with a young child.

Molly was only eight, but she had dealt with more in her short eight years than any person ever should. Sonny could barely bring himself to think it over, but the salient points were plenty: a complicit mother, a monstrous father, and a long line of people willing to pay for the unspeakable things done to her. No one in Molly’s life ever looked out for her. Sonny told you as much one evening.

The two of you were working together to get more details from Molly. Hopefully, it was information that Barba could use to put multiple people away for life. You would interview Molly and help build a rapport with her, then you and Sonny would debrief with each other to determine next steps.

That evening, Sonny was feeling especially bleak. He was tired and overworked, and Molly’s case was wearing him down. 

“People like this don’t deserve kids,” he said with disgust. “No one in Molly’s life ever took care of her.” He reached into his desk drawer for another pen and then slammed it shut. He stared down at the latest line of questions he wanted you to ask in your next interview, but after a moment, he felt your hand on his arm.

“You’re wrong,” you said. Your voice was quiet, and Sonny looked up at you. You were smiling softly at him, and you patted his arm twice before pulling it away and returning to your own work.

Sonny looked at you surreptitiously. There seemed to be two versions of you, and he was getting to know both. There was the formal, professional you: the one who wore killer suits and tasteful jewelry, with hair and makeup that were perfectly styled. That you, despite being young, could command a room of cops or detectives or lawyers. Sonny especially liked when this version of you wore a certain suit – the dark grey one with the pencil skirt and heels that showed off your legs.

The other version was arguably more professional in practice, but that version was nearly always in comfortable jeans and colorful sweaters and shirts that, more often than not matched the canvas sneakers you seemed to prefer. That version of you crawled on floors, sat under tables with children too scared to do anything but cower. That version of you colored and drew terrible pictures and coaxed the worst traumas from children. 

Sonny was in love with both versions of you.

“How am I wrong?” he asked after a long moment.

You raised your head to look at him again. “Well, you said that no one in Molly’s life ever took care of her. What are you doing, exactly?”

He scoffed. “That’s not what I mean.”

“I know what you meant, Sonny. But don’t sell yourself short in what you’re doing here. For Molly.” You gave him that smile that made his stomach do flip-flops. “This is a tough job and an even tougher case. I can’t imagine the toll it takes.”

“You’re on the case too,” he protested. He was secretly pleased though. No one in his life seemed to acknowledge the struggles he had sometimes. His lieu considered it par for the course, the other detectives were jaded and seemed hardened to it, and his family thought being a cop was a step down for him. “Plus you have your day job.”

“Private practice can be challenging,” you agreed. “This is definitely more difficult.” You shrugged. “If it helps put the bad guys away, I’m always willing to help. But you can’t just walk away, can you?” He shook his head.

You gazed at him a moment, and Sonny wished he could know what you were thinking. He knew a lot about your work, but nearly nothing about your personal life. You never talked about family or friends (or boyfriends – or girlfriends, for that matter) or hobbies or interests. All he knew was that you were a partner in a private practice, you did work for the NYPD and ADA’s office with particularly traumatized child victims, and you applied for grants in your spare time for lines of research you were interested in. 

And he knew you had at least twenty pairs of differently colored canvas sneakers.

Finally, you spoke up. “I’m about tapped for the night,” you said. “Want to go grab something to eat?”

His stomach did that flip-flop thing again. “Absolutely.”

* * *

Your late night dinner was mostly silent once the server brought your food. You were famished, and judging by Sonny’s own relative silence, he was too. The man talked constantly. His foot-in-mouth disorder was much worse than you originally diagnosed.

You liked Sonny a lot, and you had an inkling that he liked you too. You caught him on more than one occasion looking at you, and when you did, he turned an amusing shade of pink. And he tried to ask you leading questions when the two of you were just chatting. You hoped, for the sake of the NYPD, that he was more subtle when questioning suspects. You imagined him sitting across from an alleged rapist and starting the conversation with, “So, rape…what are your thoughts on _that_?”

He was great otherwise. The SVU squad could be standoffish, and you knew he was struggling as the new guy. You had your own issues with some of the detectives, namely Amanda Rollins. You had made the mistake, early on, to suggest a therapist to her after she was involved in a shooting, and she had been icy ever since.

You also knew he was struggling with Molly’s case, which was easily the worst you had ever worked on.

The two of you finished eating, and the server took away your empty plates. 

“Another round?” he asked, and you smiled to yourself at the hopeful tone in his voice. You nodded, and he ordered you each another beer.

“So,” he said. “A lot of long nights…” He paused as the waitress brought your beers, and you waited for his latest leading question. Sonny didn’t disappoint. “It can be tough on a relationship…”

You sipped at your beer to hide your grin. There it was. 

“Yeah, I imagine so.” You didn’t expound on the sentiment, and you noted the frustration on his face. When Sonny was frustrated, he got two little lines between his eyebrows. He took a couple of deep swigs of beer, and you matched him, sip for sip. You weren’t much of a drinker; you were a light-weight, in fact, and you felt a pleasant buzz creep over you.

“Why don’t you just ask me what you really want to ask me, Sonny?” you asked. He ducked his head, and you grinned at how he blushed at being called out. You thought he was extremely handsome, and handsome men tended to intimidate you – but when Sonny turned pink (and he often did), you thought he was downright adorable. And infinitely more approachable.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” he muttered. He glanced at you for a split-second, then looked away, embarrassed. “Or girlfriend?”

You shook your head. “Neither, at the moment.” You tilted your head at him. “Was that so hard, being direct?”

He still looked embarrassed, but a rueful smile crept across his face. “Being direct gets me in trouble, usually.”

“Well, I’m not Liv or anyone else in SVU. Direct works best for me, Sonny.”

He looked at you this time, holding your gaze for a moment. Sonny had gorgeous eyes, like Lake Ontario on a sunny day in July. Well, all of his face was gorgeous to you. And the rest of him was too, you suspected. He looked great in his suits, at least – you had admired him numerous times when he back was turned to you.

“Okay then,” he finally replied. “Would you like to go out on a date with me?”

You shook your head again. “Not until Molly’s case is finished. After that, we’ll go out to celebrate.” You finished your beer and winced as a darker thought crossed your mind. “Or mourn.”

But Sonny missed your pessimistic addendum. “Deal,” he said, and he smiled so brightly that you wondered if everyone called him Sonny because he could put the sun to shame with his light.

_Careful_, you thought to yourself. _If you aren’t careful, you’re going to fall in love with him, and when did love ever turn out well for anyone?_


End file.
